


A womanly touch.

by solvemeacrime



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:24:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1289389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solvemeacrime/pseuds/solvemeacrime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set on Johns wedding day, no wedding goes off without a hitch. Sidenote - This is set pre The Empty Hearse and was published on my old AO3 account, but I needed to remake everything and this is one I want to continue so am publishing here too :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"John."

"Yes?"

"John."

"Mm?"

" _John!"_

John jerkily awoke from his sleep and he sat up in his bed, "You were thrashing around, another nightmare." the voice in the darkness says, she was used to it, she'd have to be used to it, they were getting married tomorrow.

"Sorry, Mary, I'm not really tired anymore, I'm going to go read," he slid out of bed and checked the clock. 3o'clock, _Jesus_ , He thought to himself,  _it's getting harder to stay asleep at nights,_ "Sleep well." He whispered to Mary before stepping out of the room and making himself a coffee, he closed the door, her breathing was already slow and even, how could she sleep?

He walked to the kitchen,  _this is getting ridiculous, I need to take something for this._ The man made himself a cup of tea and sat down on the big couch. The room had been redecorated from the days with Sherlock; everything had a feminine touch now. He pulled out the book he was reading and continued from where he'd left off.

The words danced around in his mind, entrancing him in the story and urging him to read even more, after what seemed like mere minutes of reading he looked at the clock, 7o'clock, he sighed. He wanted to read more but he had to put the book down.

Today was it, Mary would go to her parents and the next day they would be married. John thought of himself standing at the altar, his dark suit crinkled at the knees from where he'd been sitting. He could see Mary walking down the aisle, he hadn't seen her dress yet but he was sure that it would be spectacular; it would define her rich figure, and probably bring out a sparkle in her eyes.

He walked back through to the bedroom, "Mary," He softly rubbed her shoulder, "Time to wake up. Greg will be here soon and then you have to go to your parents," he kissed her lightly and watched as her eyelids fluttered open.

"I'm up," she whispered, she sat up slowly and looked at John, "You didn't get any sleep, did you?" she asked, "I'm worried about you." Genuine care filled her eyes as she stood up and stretched.

"I'm fine, I read my book, it's good." He smiled at her and enveloped her in a hug. "I'll make eggs." John whispered in her ears.

She pulled away and got dressed, her gaze followed John as he crossed the bedroom but was pulled back to her wardrobe. She walked out in a light pink top with butterflies flying around the arms and some casual jeans with pink dolly shoes.

"You look beautiful." John looked up from the stove and grinned at her before staring back at the eggs, grinning and putting some bacon on the plates, the eggs were still cooking. The smell filled the room, he enjoyed cooking, that was something he never got to do with Sherlock, eating only slowed Sherlock down.  _STOP IT JOHN. Stop comparing your life with Mary to your life with him._ He pushed the plate to Mary, "Egg's will be done soon." And he walked back over to flip his own bacon.

"What was it about this time? Your nightmare." She tried to sound nonchalant as she buttered some bread but she failed, that's another thing about her, you could always tell what she's thinking, not like Sherlock.  _Stop._

"The usual, I keep seeing that day, Mary." He sighed and watched the bacon sizzle in the pan, "The one with Sher- him." He still couldn't bring himself to say his name.

"It's been three years, I'm not asking you to forget him, I'm just asking you to be happy, happy with what you have now." She said, she dumped the bread on her plate, next to the bacon, and walked over to hug John from behind. "I love you." She whispered.

"I love you too," he replied, sighing, "I just wish he was here, to wish me all the best."

"I'm sure he would be, but he'd want you to be happy," she leaned up and kissed the back of his ear before sitting back down in her usual place and placing the bacon neatly in the bread.

"I know." He stood in silence until the food was done cooking, he then sat opposite Mary and placed some eggs on her plate. "It's tomorrow, Mary. This time tomorrow I'll be getting ready to marry the most beautiful woman alive."

"I thought it was our wedding, who are you marrying?" She giggled as she finished off the bacon sandwich.

"You are beautiful, and amazing, and perfect. How did I ever manage to catch you?" he said, placing a piece of egg in his mouth and staring softly at Mary.

"I honestly don't know, I just know that I love you." She stood up and put her plate in the sink before going to get her bag, "I'd better leave before Greg gets here, best man duties will start right away." She carried the suitcase behind her to the door, followed by John.

"I'll see you tomorrow," He sighed happily as he pulled her in for a hug,

"Don't be late." She laughed, he was the one to pull away this time and as she stepped out of the flat and turned the corner he wondered how he had been lucky enough to get someone who he loved so much.

John stepped back into the flat and sat down to his bacon and eggs, he did the dishes slowly and after that felt so drained that he just wanted to climb into bed. When Greg arrived he finally perked up a bit.

"John!" Greg said at the door as he walked in. "Very big day tomorrow, need you to be prepped!" He shouts as he walks into the living room to where John was sat reading his book.

"Yes, big day, prepped." He mumbled, his eyes not moving from the page.

"John, book now." Greg stuck his hand out but when he got no response went forward and pulled the book away. "We have a stag do to get ready for!" He said, he had a night planned, a big, boisterous night where John, whether he liked it or not, would have fun. God knows he needed it.

"Okay, okay." He stood up and stretched. "Mary's already gone to her parents, she's getting ready for tomorrow." The thought of his fiancée made John smile and he looked to Greg, "So, what's on the agenda of tonight?"

~O~

"Just wait until you see her." Greg said, he took his place next to John at the altar and spoke about the blushing bride, the organ had just started to play and the wide doors were opening.

Johns breathing slowed, he looked at Mary as she walked down the aisle, it was so precise it was like she was floating. He dress clung to the upper part of her body and had a train flouncing out behind her. The veil was thin enough so John could see her smiling face, light pink lipstick, the exact same colour as the roses,  _An unconscious decision or one that she's put there purposely._ Sherlock's voice played from a Christmas party ages ago.  _Stop._ John thought. He stared at Mary as she made her way towards him, a wide grin spread across his face.

She stopped opposite him. "You look amazing." He whispered as he lifted her veil.

The ceremony was a blur until the time came for them to both say the two important words.

"Do you, Mary Morstan, take John Watson to be your beloved husband?" The pastor said, his voice the only sound in the church.

"I do." She said, smiling at John, she slid the ring on Johns ring finger and looked at him.

"And do you, John Watson, take Mary Morstan to be your beloved wife?" You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed.

"I d-" He was cut off by the wide doors being pushed open, he pulled Mary close to his side as he turned to face the doors.

"Stop!" A voice shouted, a voice that made everyone gasp and turn to face where it was coming from, his hands were raised and he had on a dark blue scarf. "I don't want to miss the best bits." He said. He stood by the doors, his dark curls a mess on his head.

"Sher—Sherlock?" John choked out, he dropped the wedding ring that he was about to put on Marys finger and it clattered to the floor. The room was silent, save for the sound of the gold band colliding with the church floor.


	2. Chapter 2

"What the hell?" Greg's voice was the first to break the silence. Johns face, a picture of horror, had glazed over as he stared at Sherlock, his thoughts were trying to process what was happening,  _No, this can't be happening, he's dead._ Greg saw the need to interject so he walked over to Sherlock and pulled him away, out of the church with everyone still staring at the dead man.

When he left whispers erupted almost immediately, John didn't move, he made no effort to pick up the ring and he thought he would throw up.

"John, sweetie? That was Sherlock, right?" Mary's confused voice was that funnelled into Johns mind, all heads turned to him when Mary said this.

"Yes," was all he could choke out before a string of swearwords, "That bastard. That stupid, greedy, fucking bastard. How could he?" He was walking towards the door as he was saying this, leaving Mary at the altar and everyone's eyes following him. He walks over to Sherlock and pulls him away from Greg, "What the  _hell_  are you doing here?" he shouts, his fists clenched to his side.

"John, I'm sorry but I had to see you. I had to meet Mary, the woman that has made you so happy." He smiled and was looking to Greg for help, he held his hands up, shook his head and walked back into the church, calming the situation inside.

"You have no right to be here. You're dead!" John shouted, his voice was bland and no matter how much volume he gave it he would never be able to explain how angry he was. "You're somewhere over there," He motioned his head towards the numerous gravestones behind him, "I was there when you were buried. I visited your grave stone and now you turn up on the happiest day of my life." He shook his head, "Why?"

"John, hear me out." He paused for a second, John didn't say yes but he didn't interrupt. "I couldn't come back, I tried my damn hardest but I couldn't. It was today or never and I thought you'd want to know I'm alive." He said slowly.

"You couldn't have waited until after my wedding? You heartless dick." He shook his head again and went to turn away but Sherlock grabbed his left hand, "Get off of me." He said blandly before his right fist collided with Sherlock's face. "I am getting married, now you can come in if you want but don't expect a welcoming reunion." He pulled his hand away and walked back into the church. Sherlock got to his feet and followed.

"Where were we?" John said to the pastor. "I remember," he picked up the ring and smiled at Mary again. The silence in the church made the anger evident in John's voice. "I do." He grinned and pushed the ring on Marys finger, "How could I not?" he chuckled.

The pastor composed his face, he didn't expect John to continue the ceremony like that, "Then I know pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride."

On demand John reached his hand behind Marys back and pulled her close. He rested his lips on hers and kissed her, slowly, it was after all in front of all their friends, he pulled away and Mr and Mrs Watson walked down the aisle, grinning and thanking everyone.

When they got to Sherlock, who stood at the back watching everything, John said "This is Mary, my wife. Mary, you know of Sherlock, well he's not dead, apparently." He stared at Sherlock angrily before Mary spoke, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, hi Sherlock, that is how you pronounce it? I'm Mary," She stuck her hand out but after a couple of seconds of no reaction from Sherlock she dropped her hand and frowned,  _What did I ever do to him?_ She thought. She pulled John out of the doors and looked back, smiling at everyone as they followed the couple, leaving Sherlock out of sight at the back of the crowd. "He's a bit odd." She whispered in Johns ear as they walked under the archway to go to the car that would lead them to the reception.

"Well, I just hope he doesn't need somewhere to stay." John said, no matter how much he'd missed Sherlock, he'd just gotten over the death, and the death of his best friend wasn't easy to recover from. He couldn't exactly turn Sherlock away, it was his flat too.

"Let's just have fun, we still have the party and I'm sure he'll turn up to that, you two can talk then, okay?" She said, she sat in one seat of the car and John got into the car after, "Hey, cheer up!" She leaned into John and kissed him on the check, rubbing his hair with her hand.

"Okay," He smiled, Mary had this way of just cheering him up.

He sent a text to Greg:  
 _Bring Sherlock to the party, he and I need to talk-JW_

"He's coming and I'll talk to him." He smiled as he looked out of the window, the people were dispersing to their own cars so that they could get to the party venue.

When they arrived John stood outside and welcomed his and Marys friends and family, he lost count of how many times he said "Yeah, she's just getting changed, doesn't want to spill anything on the wedding dress." After everyone went in Greg walked up and Sherlock followed him up, his head hung. "Greg, go tell Mary I'll be in soon." He smiled at his friend and best man before looking at Sherlock.

"John, I am so sorry..." He trailed off and looked at John.

"Okay, you're back. I won't question you and although I'm angry I'll get over it, where are you thinking of living? Mary lives with me in Baker Street, you're room is free but your stuff is all in boxes." He shrugged. He couldn't allow himself to get close to Sherlock, he put up this wall and kept Sherlock blocked out, and if he got close then he would get hurt.

"I hadn't thought about that, I don't know, I might move back into the flat, it won't be that cluttered and I can keep my experiments in my room, I really am sorry but I'll do anything to be your friend again." He wasn't one to beg, John thought that this was a bit weird but even so, "Okay, come in, be nice to everyone? There's a seat next to Greg, he's next to me." John walked off in through the doors, lead Sherlock to the main table and pointed to a seat next to Greg.

"Thanks," he said quietly as he took his seat.

Mary was sat one seat away from Greg and the first thing John noticed was what she was wearing, a pale yellow dress that reached her knees with flowers at the bottom, pale yellow dolly shoes were nestled on her feet, the only jewellery was the diamond ring on her finger.

John turned to her, "He's staying in his old room, he said it won't be cluttered and he'll do most things in his room." John looked at Mary,  _she'll understand_ , he thought.

"Okay, well he can come out of his room, I wouldn't want him to feel out of place, he was there first." Mary remember the way Sherlock had ignored her when she spoke to him in the church, maybe he was just upset that someone else had John.

Sherlock heard this and smiled at Mary. "I believe we got off on the wrong foot, sorry." He said to Mary, "I was upset but I am sorry, I hope you don't mind me being there, only until I get a place." He said, he explained it to her mainly because if they were going to be sharing a table tonight and a house for the next couple of weeks.

"It's okay, stay as long as you want." John squeezed Marys hand under the table and she smiled at him.

At the table there was Greg, Sherlock, John, Mary and an empty seat. The empty seat was reserved for whenever Molly finally got here. John couldn't wait to see the shock when she saw Sherlock. They chatted as they ate and then finally the music turned on, Sherlock stayed in his seat, never moving once to dance, while John and Mary walked around thanking everyone for coming and dancing with most people there.

Greg was the only one that wasn't at the table when Molly finally came in, she was wearing a dress that cut off just below her knee and shimmered around there, "Hey Sherlock," she smiled at him, "John, Mary, I'm so sorry I'm so late! I got in a spot of trouble at work, someone came in last minute and they really needed to know what killed him straight away. She took her seat next to Sherlock and looked at him, "You told them then?" She said, pointing mostly at John.

"You knew?" John said quickly. "I knew you wouldn't get over it that quick." He frowned at her but then a reassuring squeeze tingled his hand, Mary was pulling him up and the music slowed.

"First dance?" She asked as she led him to the dance floor. Everyone dispersed and stood around the edge while John and Mary swayed in the centre.

"I can't believe she knew and didn't tell me." He frowned but continued, "Are you sure you want him to live with us? You know how he gets."

"Yes, he was your friend." Mary leaned her head on Johns shoulder. "Can we just forget about him being dead, just for tonight, and have fun?"

"Okay."

~O~

"Sherlock! We've already been through this! You can't shoot walls!" John shouted at Sherlock, pulling the gun out of his hands and throwing it across the room. "Mary and I are tired, do you think you can be quiet for the rest of the night?" He asked, not waiting for a reply before turning around and storming back to his bedroom on his heels.

"Fine." Sherlock said to the empty room. John hadn't been the same since Sherlock returned; there were rules about everything, not foolish gun waving or silly deductions in this house. Sherlock didn't care too much, unless he was bored, he was just glad to be home.


	3. Chapter 3

"He shot the wall, again." John sighed as he walked into his room, "He's worse than a five-year-old." He said as he lay on the bed beside Mary. He tugged lightly at a strand of her hair, tying it loosely around his fingers.

"He'll get over it, you could always take his guns away." She suggested, she watched him as her head rested on the pillows, her eyes followed his movement and looked at his hand. "I think you should do something with him, he obviously missed you." She said lightly. She had been pestering John to do something with Sherlock for weeks, his ego always got the better of him and he always said no.

The truth was that John wanted to be able to spend time with Sherlock but whenever he saw the man all he could think of what him jumping off that building. "I can't." He shrugged, he sighed again and dropped the strand of hair, watching it hang delicately as he rested his head on the pillow. "It's 1 o'clock and I have to be in the clinic tomorrow so I'm going to sleep," he kissed Mary and turned around, turning off his lamp and closing his eyes, "Night." He whispered.

"Night." She smiled into the darkness before being lulled once again into sleep.

John, however, didn't sleep. He lay there, unable to sleep, unable to relax. His stiff body was tensed on the bed as his hands were clenched in front of him. He was listening to Mary's soft breathing and thinking about what she'd said, he really should spend some time with Sherlock,  _and_ take his guns off of him.

When John finally slept it seemed like mere minutes before his alarm was beeping and he had to drag himself out of bed. He pulled on a jumper and went into the kitchen to where Sherlock sat on a stool, the gun perched in his fingers, his thinking face on. John prepared 2 cups of coffee, one for himself and one for Mary.

"John." He said quietly, twiddling the gun and emerging from his daydreaming state

"Mhmm?" He asked as he poured milk into his coffee and leaned on the counter.

"We have a problem," he whispered, "Mycroft texted me. Lestrade has a case, a case which he needs help on." He said looking at John, "He needs my help and I'd be lost without my blogger." He whispered sadly, he hadn't tried guilt tripping yet.

John opened his mouth with a smart remark, something like 'have you seen my blog lately, not much about you, Sherlock' but instead he said, "Okay, but I have work until 4 so where should I meet you?" John chuckled at Sherlock's face, for once the other man was shocked.

"Really? You'll come?" His voice was hopeful and his eyes sparkling as he spoke fast, "Just meet here at 4? I have the address but I'd rather meet here." He looked at the door as Mary walked in, he smiled, stood up and walked to his bedroom.

"He looked happy, what did you do?" she teased, taking her coffee and sipping lightly as she checked the fridge.

"I said I'd go with him on a case," her head shot up out of the fridge and she looked at him, "Nothing dangerous, I don't think. I don't know much about it." He looked over Marys shoulder and into the living room.

"Just, stay safe. I know what happened on your old cases, I read all about them and if you die then I'll never forgive you." She whispered, she walked over to him and placed her mug on the counter, hugging him tight to her and leaning her head on his shoulder. "I love you." She whispered against his neck.

"And I love you." He hugged her back before looking at the clock. "Crap! I have to go." He exclaims, pulling away and dropping his mug in the sink before walking to the door, "Have a nice day!" He shouted before walking out of the room.

"Will do!" Both Sherlock and Mary reply at the same time, just as every other morning. He laughed as he threw his bag over his shoulder and walked down the steps to hail a cab.

"Hey Sarah," He threw the women a smile as he walked into his office and sat at his desk waiting for his first patient. While he waited he got his folders out and opened them up, looking through and double checking.

_So, I hear you're going on a case with my brother.-MH_

John leaned back in his chair, ignoring the papers and looking at the screen.

_Yes, problem?-JW_

_No. Mary wouldn't fit in on the crime scene, there was a murder. Well 5 to be precise.-MH_

_5? Who?-JW_

_Some friends to the royal family. You'll see when you come here, now Sherlock is rather excited so don't get too angry at him.-MH_

_Okay,_ the door opened and John looked up,  _I'm at work so I'll see you this afternoon.-JW_ he placed his phone in the desk and smiled as the assistant walked in.

"Your first patient's here." She said before ducking out again.

The day, from then on blurred by, he checked up 4 patients, had a lunch break and called Mary, checked up on 2 patients and then went through his files again. He watched the clock ticking by, weirdly excited for the afternoon to come.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm home!" John shouted as he put his bag down and walked through to the living room, seeing Sherlock sitting so casually on the sofa. The minute John walked in Sherlock jumped up and clasped his hands in front of him.

"John, you're home!" He shouted, "Can we go now? I've been waiting ages." He said quickly as he crossed the room, before John could react.

"Okay, I've been texting Mycroft, you said it was a case, not 5 cases. 5 murders, Sherlock." He frowned but walked back to the door, opening it and stepping out followed directly by Sherlock.

"Well no, one case. They were killed by the same person, at the same time and there was no weapon." He said, he walked past John and down the steps two by two.

"Okay, but you never said that there were 5 murders." John replied, following Sherlock out and hailing a taxi. "Sherlock, you know the address?" he asked as he climbed in the taxi that had just stopped in front of him.

"Yeah, 7 Princess Street please." Sherlock rattled off the address to the driver and he sped off in the direction of the house. "Thanks for coming, you didn't have to." He said quietly after a moment of silence, keeping his eyes staring out of the window.

"Well, I thought it's about time I trust you again." The doctor shrugged, "Don't get Mary involved with the cases, that's my one wish. If this case backfires and hurts her then I'm out." He said sternly, looking at Sherlock's face, his profile was flawless.

"Of course I won't unless she wishes to." The taxi stopped as Sherlock spoke so he climbed out and paid the driver. He stood beside John staring up at the big house in front of him.

3 stories high, with old grand windows and an arch around the door. Police cars were lined up out the front and Mycroft stood standing with Greg. The minute he saw Sherlock and John he walked over to them, Greg followed after him.

"Sherlock, brother mine!" Mycroft said excitedly, he looked down at John, "and John." He smiled and explained the case. Family murder, 5 dead. They were friends with the royal family and there was no apparent murder weapons, no wounds, no blood, no poison. The police were stumped, so were the government.

"Okay, can we see the bodies?" he asked, they'd been left on the crime scene, now that Sherlock's name had been cleared he was allowed on the scene of the crime without putting jobs at risk.

"It's upstairs," Greg said he began to walked but he stopped in his tracks, "Anderson is on forensics." Despite many, many attempts to get Anderson fired he still worked there.

"Okay, I guess I can live through, this is an interesting case." His eyes shined and John had a little smirk playing on the edge of his lips as he watched his best friend,  _former_ best friend, in his happy place. A murder scene may not be a happy place to any sane person but everyone there knew just how different Sherlock was.

Greg led Sherlock and John inside the big house, the grand entrance opening up to various different rooms, gold wallpaper surrounded the walls, portraits hung loosely on the walls and John recalled a song he'd once heard his mother sing, ' _weathered faces lined with pain are soothed beneath the artists loving hand'. _You could see their lips upturned slightly as if they are grimacing, but only if you look close enough. John pulled his eyes from the painting and his gaze followed Sherlock and Greg upstairs, they were both taking the steps two at a time so John had to run to keep up. His eyes rested on various objects secured to the wall. A dream catcher with glass beads sewn into the intricate design reflected the sunlight perfectly and, as he touched it, he could hear the light chink of the beads as they rattled against each other.

"John!" Sherlock shouted, he quickly dropped his hand and walked to the room at the end, a kids room. There were bunk beds that contained two boys, both not breathing. The walls were light blue and had shelves lining them with pictures of these boys as they grew. They were identical twins. John could almost hear the cogs whirring inside Sherlock's brain as he stared around the room, deducing everything he could about how they died. "Show me the girl's room." He ordered as he paced to the door. He took another look around before following Greg to a room across the hall.

"Here it is, she was found over there, toilet door."

Obviously she has an en suite, John thought as he looked around. Where the boy's room had been full of toys and games that 11 year olds play with the girl's room was completely different. She had posters filling almost every inch of the wall, band members and TV show casts, you name it and sure enough she had it. John, who obviously couldn't deduce what could possibly be going on with the death, went over to a cabinet across the room. A mirror was perched on it with pictures of the girl and her friends sticking out at precarious angles. She had make-up and jewellery strewn across the desk carelessly and the name  _Joanna_ was painted on the top of the desk. This family wasn't one to buy second hand so the pine table had obviously been made for this particular girl and this particular room. She had pictures of her family on her desk to, stuck to the side more carefully.  _Oliver &Ben. _ Her slanty scribble told John her brother's names. They were 11 and she a mere 16 years old. He picked up a photo frame and looked at the weather picture. She was 5 and she sat with her mum and dad, she was on her mums lap holding one of the boys, staring into his fragile face, while the other was in her father's hands. The silver frame was the only one to be regularly dusted and he knew that this one must have been special to her.

John was startled as a voice came from behind him, "Didn't think I'd be seeing you around," Donovan sneered, "Thought you'd have given up on Sherlock." She peered over his shoulder to where he'd put the frame back on the desk, "She's dead now, the mum." She nodded her head to it and folded her arms over her chest. "That's why Joanna liked the picture; it was the only one of the five of them. Her dad got remarried and she misses her mum, she was only 6." Her eyes had a twinge of emotion, guilt maybe? No, she was just upset that someone had lost their mum so young.

"Oh." John had no reply as he glanced down at the frame. "I'm here because Sherlock wants me to be." He shrugged, stepping away from her and walking over to Sherlock and the girls body.

Sherlock, knelt over at her head, was staring intently at the skin above her eyebrows. "She was poisoned, I saw the marks on the boys but thought that it may just be some play toy, play dough or something, but the green tint to the skin here," He pointed at the skin and John saw a slight olive green tan to the skin, "shows that she was poisoned, slow killing poison is my best idea considering that she was making her way to the toilet, maybe she realized And the fact of such high security, it was someone on the inside, one of the cooks or chefs. They might have recently resigned." He straightened up and smiled.

"Aren't you going to examine the parents?" Greg asked when Sherlock got his phone out to call for a taxi.

"No need, I'll examine their bodies at the morgue, get Molly to sort them out and prep them, we'll see what poison they induced." He grinned and his eyes sparkled. Anderson and Donovan stood by the back of the wall rolling their eyes while John just followed him out quietly. They waited on the pavement and when they climbed into a taxi Sherlock gave the address, "St. Barts hospital please." He said.

John shuddered. He hadn't been back there since... since Sherlock's jump and he hated the thought of going back, too many memories. But he kept his mouth shut, he was more confused than he'd ever been before; he loved it.


	5. Chapter 5

"Molly!" Sherlock shouted as he walked into the room, pushing the doors wide apart as he stepped in, John following quickly behind him.

John, where are you?-Mary xxx

John read the text as he watched Molly stumble off of her stall and fiddle around with some papers as she tried to find the right ones. St Barts, with Sherlock. I told you we'd be working on a case.-JW x

I didn't expect to be this long, come home soon and stay safe. –Mary xxx

Of course-JW xx

John sighed and put his phone in his pocket, will she ever stop worrying? He was staring off into space thinking when he realized that Sherlock was talking to him.

"Sorry, what?" he said as he was pulled from his thoughts.

"I said that here," he pointed to the paper, "It says that she, Joanna, choked on her vomit, whereas her brothers both just choked." He frowned. "It also says that Joanna has an unusually high IQ. Maybe she could feel the poison so she tried to puke it up and choked." He said, of course that was it; Sherlock was never wrong, "What do you think?" he asked, handing the folder to John and pulling a piece of paper and pen towards him to scribble down some body parts that he needed.

"You're asking me?" John asked as he took the paper and stared wide-eyed at it. "Yeah, I think you're right, you always are." He placed the papers back on the desk and turned to Sherlock, openly frowning. "I hope you don't plan to keep all of those body parts in the fridge?" He'd only just managed to get the eyeballs taken out and now he had two legs and a bag of index fingers coming his way.

"No, Mycroft's getting me a fridge and I'm going to keep it in my room, that okay?" He asks, looking up from the sheet for the first time, only momentarily but long enough to catch Johns eye and smile.

"As long it's not contaminating mine and Mary's food." He smirked and flicked through the papers.

"It won't." Sherlock grinned, "So, Molly, you can get me those pieces, I think I probably can get a trace of the poison used from either her sick or their throats. They all died of the same thing so I have no need to examine the parents." He smiled at them both and walked towards the door, "Mary's probably worrying about you so let's get home." He suggested, he nodded at Molly in thanks and walked out, his coat swishing at the fast movements.

John followed and got out his phone 'On our way home.- JW xx' he sent out the text and sat next to Sherlock in a taxi.

They still hadn't spoken about the three years so most of their time was filled with this silence. John got sick of it; he wanted to know what happened. "Where were you?" he asked.

Sherlock knew what he meant; it was what had been plaguing Johns mind for months, since Sherlock's return, he was bound to ask eventually. "London mostly, but I went everywhere, he had people all over." He sighed before continuing, "I did it to save you, you know?"

"You said, why did you choose my wedding day to come back?"

"I didn't want to miss my best friend getting married." He shrugged his shoulder and looked at John.

"You missed my first date, the engagement, everything except the wedding." He said, eyes narrowed. "You know, Sherlock, I missed you but I have someone now, maybe you should think about that. I can't come with you on every case." He said, he nodded his head once to finalise it and looked at Sherlock, "I'm sorry, but I have Mary to think of."

Sherlock nodded, "I know, but I just-"

Johns phone buzzed at that moment, cutting off Sherlock, 'Oh, John. You really shouldn't have let Mary out of your sight.-JM' He showed Sherlock the text and his eyes widened.

"I didn't know he was alive." He whispered.

"Well, now he's got Mary so you'd better do something when we get home!" He snarled. "Hurry up!" He shouted to the driver who was laboriously slow, trying to work up his fare.

He didn't settle for a moment of the 10 minute journey to get to Baker Street and he ran in, hoping what Jim had said was false. "There was no struggle, either she gladly went or she was drugged." Sherlock frowned as he walked in. "They probably knocked her out."

"Well, get her back!" John replied. "Do whatever you can, find her. You're such a great detective now find her. Please." His voice was loud and nervous but it dropped on the last word and cracked as he fell to his knees.

"John, I'll do everything in my power." Sherlock reassures, "And I know the British Government, I'll do anything."

He looked up at Sherlock, his eyes pained. "Sherlock, just remember this. Don't drug her, if she is already drugged don't add anything else to her system." He whispered desperately.

"Why? It'll calm her nerves if she's shaken up." He asked, he kneeled down beside John and looked at him curiously.

"It won't calm the babies." The room was silent as he let what he said sink in. Sherlock barely moved. Mary was pregnant?


	6. Chapter 6

_-flashback-_

"Sherlock?" I could see him, right in front of me, he stood there with his cheekbones and popped collar and just looked at me. I lifted my arm and tried to touch him, tried to feel he was real, but he moved away, out of my reach but not out of my sight. I could still see him; I could still feel his presence.

"John, I'm here." His voice was different somehow, low and gruff as if he had a cough, but we both knew that couldn't be; he was dead, "I'm alive, come find me." He had a playful note in his voice and with those words he twisted around and walked out of Baker Street.

"Sherlock!" I shouted after him, I wanted to run but my feet wouldn't move, I was planted to the spot and I couldn't move. It was like something was wrenching my feet to the floor, something was pulling me back from running after the man whom I held so dear in my heart.

Then I realised what had stopped me from running after him, reality.

_John sat bolt upright in his bed in the dark room, all alone in 221B Baker Street. He'd just started going to work again and he knew he had to be there soon so he got up and dragged himself over to get changed. He walked out of his bedroom and the overwhelming, crippling sensation ripped at his chest as it did every morning when he walked out and realised no-one would be greeting him. When he realised that their milk - he was still calling it their milk as if Sherlock were alive - would be devoid of fingers or toes, and there wouldn't be a severed head dripping blood in his fridge. When he realised that his house didn't have half done experiments littered around, or half eaten sandwiches stashed out of sight where he couldn't see them._

_When he got over the initial pain of that he dragged himself to make a coffee, checking in fridge for something to eat, maybe even to see if it had all been a bad dream. He wished more than anything to see a severed head but all he saw were old, unopened packets of food that he never quite had the patience to cook or the strength to eat._

_He made a coffee and then went to work. He didn't eat; he buried himself in work, anything to get over the harsh memory. 'That's what people do, isn't it? Leave a note?' He breathed steadily as he examined patients and handed out prescriptions. He sat there at lunch time, every lunch time reading through the files and looking at more symptoms, he read from books if he was having a particularly slow day, or he caught up on paper work. Because he knew that if for one second he stopped working and he stopped making himself do things then he would stop breathing. He wouldn't be able to hold it together and he would fall apart, in front of everyone. Like the broken toy soldier, mourning his friend's loss is weak; he'd seen it so many times before in Iraq so why was he so irreparable now?_

_Because he was more than your friend. You loved him. Not in the romantic way, but in the 'I hope you are always okay.' sort of way. That's what he kept telling himself. He wasn't in love with Sherlock Holmes; he loved him like he loved a family member, willing to do anything for him but knowing that you could never love him in any different way._

_Or maybe he did love him in the romantic way. He wasn't sure, he was always so tired, between the nightmares, where all he saw was Sherlock jumping, and the dreams, where he and Sherlock were reunited, and he was barely sure what was real and what wasn't._

_That's when he started to have the dreams. The dreams that involved a girl, no, not a girl, a woman. A woman with a child's innocence, and a bone-chillingly young voice. Her body had all the attributes John needed and her mind held all the ones he valued, she was smart, and kind and so innocent. New to the world and yet somehow she understood it. She understood it in ways that helped her comfort John, but only in the dreams. He still woke up to an empty house, feeling more alone than ever that he'd lost Sherlock and now that he would never meet the angel of his nightmares._

_She helped him feel happy, that always made him feel guilty in a way, sort of like he doesn't deserve happiness so why is this angel giving it to him? In the morning he woke up to feel pain, which was always the first thing he felt. Pain that he would never see his best friend. But then guilt filled him, anger bubbled over and he was left with a crippling sensation in his bones._

"Can you send the next patient in?" I buzzed over the intercom.

"Yes, doctor Watson." Her voice came back quickly and I could hear the footsteps, God, what a boring way to spend my day, this time last year I was chasing criminals-No, John. Stop. You can't think about those days, they're over, move on. I picked up a pen and began to write the date slowly on the sheet of paper in front of me. I wrote my name and pulled up the next persons file on the computer.

"Mary Morstan, I presume?" I asked when the door clicked open.

"That's me." She said. That voice. I froze in the spot and refused to look at her, It's the angels voice, I'm sure of it. Of course, I didn't know she had a name, I never presumed she was even real but here she was, standing in my surgery.

"I'm Doctor John Watson, what seems to be the problem?" I leaned back in my chair and watched her cross the room and take the seat opposite my desk. I chewed on the pen and looked at her face. Shit. It's her. Fuck. It's the angel, what do I do. Okay, John. Act normal, you are a professional.

"I just feel sick, all the time, and my friend recommended I come and see you, he said you were a very good Doctor."

I smiled and looked at Mary, "I like to think I am," I checked the screen quickly to see what her title was, "Mrs Morstan."

"Please, it's Ms. Morstan. My husband just died."

"I'm very sorry to hear that." I said as I saw the sadness in her eyes. I then noticed the dark bags underneath them and how thin her face looked, it looked almost as bad as mine, "I presume your husband died in the past couple of months?"

"Yes, 2 months ago." She looked at me, "How did you know that?"

I smiled and said, "I am also right in saying that you haven't eaten much since then?"

"Again, yes." She said, confusion was burrowed in her eyes.

"And you say you feel sick?" I gave her no chance to answer and continued on, "A close friend of mine passed away recently and I was feeling very sick, just like you. But I wasn't eating anything either." I leaned forward on the table and looked at her square in the eyes, "What you need to do, to feel better, is eat. I swear that the moment you eat a full meal you won't feel sick."

I hadn't even done that yet, so how did I know this? Because she told me it. The angel of my nightmares told me that I need to eat to feel better, every day I ignored it and I still felt sick. But now, with the angel sitting in front of me, so sad and frail, I had to help.

"Now, Ms. Morstan, Since my friend passed away I haven't eaten much either, so the two of us should go out and get some food, not on a date, just because as your doctor, I need to make sure that you are getting the proper sustenance into your body.

_-Now-_

"Mary! Don't you remember me? Your good friend, Jim Moriarty, I'm so glad you didn't take my name when we were married, who would have known the doctor would fall so hard for you?"

Mary was tied to a chair, a scarf was wrapped firmly around her mouth, and she tried to move around in the chair but to no avail. She was well and truly stuck. Her stomach was in pain and she knew they'd given her something, if it harms the baby then John would not be happy.

"I knew he would fall for you, but I never imagined that you would fall for him! How long did it take for you to stop contacting me with information on him? Oh 5 months. Not even that, if I'm right." He grinned and walked over to her, "And now you're carrying poor Johns little baby. How do you think he'd react if he found out the true circumstances of you two meeting?"

She struggled harder then, the scarf made her skin itch but she managed to make it slip off of her mouth. "Don't you dare tell him!" she shouted pain evident in her voice. She curled over in the chair as her stomach began to hurt, as if offering protection to the baby growing inside her, but she couldn't. Her arms were pulled back by someone behind her and she was forced to sit straight, writhing in agony as she could feel the precious life inside her slip away. "Please, don't let me lose this baby, I'll do what you want, just help me keep it?" her eyes were pleading and Jim leaned into her face, their noses nearly touching.

"No." He whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

"She's pregnant?" Sherlock choked out as he ran after John.

"Yes, twins. She thinks is just one baby but it's twins and now, if they've given her anything, it'll hurt them." His face was broken and he looked at Sherlock, his eyes betraying all of his emotions, "I need them, Sherlock. I need her."

Sherlock couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, this was his fault, if he hadn't have died, if he hadn't have taken John on the case. If  _he_ hadn't have done so many things to ruin the good doctors life.

"Sorry, I'll make sure Mycroft doesn't give her anything, I'll make sure we find her." He promised firmly. He got back to his feet and straightened out his clothes. "Well, he's clearly not here, but this is Jim, he left a note, or a clue, or something." He frowned and began pacing, where would Jim leave the note?

He looked over to John, who was still crouched on the floor, and ran out of the living room. He ran straight to John and Mary's room and threw the door open, revealing a small note on the bed.

' _I thought you would love this place,_  
You nostalgic fool,  
Come and meet me at the pool.-JM'

"John! Get up, we're going out!" Sherlock took the stairs two by two as he ran down them and crouched by John, "The pool, that's where he is and she's probably with him." He pulled John to his feet and dragged the man out.

The minute they were in a taxi he turned to John, "We're going to get her, John, don't worry about it." Sherlock said, if John was like this then he would be no use, Sherlock would be worried for the both of them, and for Mary, and even the babies.

"We will?" Johns eyes raised and met Sherlocks, the pain was evident and his voice was slightly choked but he was holding together, for the most part.

"We will." Sherlock replied firmly. He looked out of the window again and stayed silent for the rest of the ride until they reached the pool, where he rapidly climbed out and walked in. "Jim!" He shouted, his voice was strong and he knew that John was following close behind. There was only one door and Sherlock walked briskly towards it, in the hope that Jim and Mary would be there, "Jim!" he shouted again.

This time he heard a faint 'Sherlock', it came from behind the door and he opened it, running in to the dimly lit room and looking around. There was a chair, a figure behind the chair, and people all around the room with weapons, hidden on ledges, out of sight to the untrained eye.

"Glad you could join us." The eerie Irish accent spoke up and a light was flicked on.

"Mary!" John says as he sees the figure on the chair. Her head is hung and her body as slumped over as the tight rope that bound her wrists together would allow, "Are you okay?"

She nodded, her eyes were frantic and searching even when they looked at John they only softened slightly. She mumbled against the gag and Jim just laughed softly.

"Don't worry, John, I only took her because I needed a talk with dear old Sherlock." He smiled sweetly, "As soon as we've had a chat you can take her."

"What did you do to her?" Sherlock asked simply as John ran a hand through his hair, "Did you give her anything?"

"Maybe a little something, she's now complaining about stomach pains. Sort of like she's, oh I don't know, having a miscarriage." He grinned devilishly at John.

"Shut up." John said quietly, he refused to meet the man's eyes and he instead stared at Mary, who was trying desperately to clutch her stomach but the rope restricting her arms made it almost impossible and the struggling seemed to be hurting her more. Jim continued laughing which made John repeat it, louder this time, a shout that startled everyone in the room.

"What do you want to talk about?" Sherlock asked Jim hesitantly, his eyes casting to John, whose eyes were still fixated on Mary.

"You. Death. Suicide of the fake type." Jim said simply, this was the first time the two men had been face to face since the rooftop of St. Barts.

"Well, then we both have something to be said don't we." Sherlock narrowed his eyes and his gaze followed the Irish man as he walked to a door that led of an off side room.

"Follow me." Jims eyes showed an evil smile and Sherlock could feel a hand on his arm, Johns hand.

"Don't, Sherlock. If you die again then I will never forgive you." His hand dropped to his side as Sherlock walked away from the touch and into the room.

The door closed softly and Jim turned instantly on Sherlock, "How did you do it?" he asked quickly, the moment they were alone.

"I could ask you the same." He retorted,  _like I would give it away_ he thought to himself as he stepped around Moriarty and sat down in the lone chair in the room and stared up at Jim.

"I'm not saying, you jumped off of a building, how did you survive and convince everyone you were dead?" His eyes stayed narrowed and he watched the man, his height still evident even though he was sitting down.

"You shot yourself in the head, how did you keep that up?" he asked sarcastically.

"Oh, Sherlock. Only one body was found that day and it wasn't on the roof. Just you died to the world that day." His slick Irish accent showed a hint of pride and it sickened Sherlock.

"I don't care. Is that all you wanted? To ask me how I did it? Because since I won't tell you, you should let me go."

"You know, your brother was so broken, he thought it was his fault. Well, it was. He was the one that gave me all the information about you, you know?" Jim asked sweetly.

"I'm going." Sherlock stood up and pushed the chair down with the force. He walked to the door until the Irish accent drew his attention back.

It came from the back of the room, "I'll be in touch." And a bang as a door shut.

When Sherlock walked back through to the room John was hugging Mary to her side as she hugged her stomach in pain, "I'll get Mycroft."


	8. Chapter 8

"John, you can't just go out on a case!" Mary shouted as she ran a hand through her hair, her other hand resting on her inflated stomach. She had only lost one child, she had also been told that this time the child would be weak and small. She called him her blessing, he survived the miscarriage and she thought that meant something.

"Mary, this is important, Sherlock needs me on this case." John frowned, but his face softened as he looked at his wife.

"No, John. I need you! Sherlock bloody Holmes didn't just lose a child!" she shouted back, her eyes watering but she wouldn't let the tears out, not with John here. "Your child, may I add."

"You told me to spend time with him." John said as he walked slowly over to her and placed a soothing hand on her back.

"I told you to spend time with him, not do everything he wants." Mary said her tone taking a note of dismay as she stepped away from his touch and walked into the living room. Her dark trousers clung to her swollen stomach and she sat breathlessly on the chair, "I'm starting to wish he'd have never reappeared." She muttered as she picked up her book and flicked to the page she was reading.

"Mary, you like him too, you have to admit it." John tried reasoning with her and he sat in front of the chair. "Just please, give him a chance and let me go with him?"

Mary slowly breathed in and folded the corner of her book over, placing it on the table and looking at John. "Have you forgotten that I am almost 9 months pregnant with your baby? It would have been babies but Sherlock Holmes reappeared and so did Jim bloody Moriarty and you know, he decided to get his revenge on me, hence me losing one. All thanks to Sherlock, so no. I may have liked him at one point but now? No." She said softly, "I'm looking out for you, and the baby. I don't want him or growing up without a father." She rubbed her stomach, patiently awaiting an answer.

"He won't. I swear, I won't let him." He smiled and kissed Mary's cheek lightly. "Just remember that I love you and I will  _always_ come home to you."

"Fine. Go, but I swear to God if I go into labour and you aren't there then I will... I don't know what I'll do next, all I know is that it will happen and it will be bad." She teased halfheartedly as she put her forefinger on his chest, pushing him lightly to the door. "Go, have fun and be home soon? I'll miss you." She said seriously, her eyes locking with Johns.

"I will, I love you too, and no excitement for you. Watch TV or something but I want you to rest okay." He grinned as he walked out of 221 B Baker Street and down the path.

"Of course, have fun." She replied. She watched John climb into the taxi and watched the taxi drive away before going back in to the flat.

"Hello, Sarah. Hey, do you want to come round for a coffee? John went out and I need some girly time." She said after she rang her best friends number.

"Sure, I'll be over in five minutes." She grinned into the other side of the phone and then the line went dead.

Sarah'd be there soon so Mary got up and made a cup of coffee before doubling over in pain and collapsing on the sofa, clutching her stomach.

~oOo~

 **Ring-ring.**  
Ring-ring.  
Ring-ring.  
Ring-ring.  
"Hello, you've reached John Watson. Well, you haven't because I can't come to the phone right now but leave a message and I'll get back to you. Oh, and if it's Anderson then I'm very sorry for whatever Sherlock said, he didn't mean it but he wouldn't like to apologise."

Mary almost laughed at the message, well she would have had she not been in the hospital, clutching her phone to her ear for the eighth time and feeling the pain of her fifth contraction in what felt like minutes.

"Get here now! Hospital—" She screamed as another contraction took her, "I need you here, John. Get off that god damn case and get here." And with that she threw the phone across the room. "Sarah, don't leave me until he gets here?" she pleaded with her friend and gripped onto her hand.

"Of course not." She smiled and looked at Mary, "You know, you should have had the epidural."

"I know that!" Mary shouted in frustration. "I can feel the pain! Get me the drugs, please!"

"Sorry, you turned down the epidural, there's nothing we can do now." A nurse shook her head. "Just push. Push, breathe. In and out, in and out."

"That's what I'm doing!" Mary shouted again, her face was red and she gripped Sarahs hand tight. "Where is my husband?"

~oOo~

"John, what is it?" Sherlock asked as he walked over to see John with his phone pressed to his ear, he instinctively looked into the mans eyes, glazed over. Something bad.

"Mary went into labour an hour ago and Sarah just called. We have to get to the hospital, she was crying. Sarah I mean, not Mary. I didn't speak to Mary, I mean, it was Sarah who phoned, Mary wasn't there." John was rambling now and Sherlock pushed him to a black car that Mycroft was sat in, not caring for once that his brother was there.

"Mycroft, hospital, now." Sherlock growled, his voice low as he looked at John, "It'll be fine, John. Everything will be okay." He smiled as best he could and he felt the car go into motion. He then looked around for his brother but it seemed he'd vacated the car.

"What if the baby's dead? We've already lost one, we can't lose another one." Another thought popped into Johns head but he didn't want to voice it.

"It'll be fine. You'll both have me and each other if that happened." Sherlock said softly. The rest of the ride was spent in silence, John bit his nails and stared into space and Sherlock had his thinking face on as his mind whirred around.

~O~

"John!" They could hear Sarah before they saw her.

"Where is she?" John said quickly, "Where is my wife?"

Sarah said nothing, she looked at John and then to Sherlock. He pulled John away down a corridor and went to windowed room full of newborns, "Far right corner is your baby. The little triangle on the paper, that means that the mother, she—John, Mary died while giving birth. Her body shut down from the stress of losing one child and then having another one prematurely."

Johns face, which was previously smiling at his son, fell. They trailed back to Sarah and he mouthed the words, "She's dead?" His eyes watered and he was struggling to hold it together. The one thing that he had refused to admit could happen, had happened.

With a slight nod of her head Sarah placed a hand on his shoulder, "It'll be okay." She said softly.

John just shook her hand off and turned around, walking out of the hospital and away from everything to go get drunk at a pub, what he did best.


	9. Chapter 9

"John, what the hell? You left me to deal with a baby! You left me in the hospital and someone had to take it home and it had to be me, there is a sleeping baby upstairs, your sleeping baby! Where the hell are you? If you come home drunk then I swear to God that baby is going straight into care. Babies need looking after, it's mother's gone, it needs you. Just come home."

~O~

"I won't be angry. I won't put him in care but it's gone twelve and he's still here without you. He's crying and I don't know what to do, he's your son, come home."

~O~

"What do I call him? At the moment it's baby because you need to give him a name. Hurry up and come home, I won't care in what state you're in, I'll help you, I need you home, John. Now."

~O~

When John eventually walked through the door at one in the morning he stank of beer and couldn't help but laugh at the sight of Sherlock Holmes holding a tiny baby in his arms, rocking him and holding a bottle to his lips. "Shut up and sit down." Sherlock whispered. The baby's big brown eyes seeked out the source of laugher and he watched the drunk man stumbled around. Then he started crying, his fear ran through him as this big, unsteady man was stumbling around and making loud sounds. "Jesus, John. I had just got him nearly sleeping. Just sit down and be quiet." Sherlock snapped.

He made his way upstairs while carrying the baby, he continued feeding him and he seemed to rest now that he was away from John, he seemed to relax because the scary man wasn't there making noises. Sherlock smiled down at his face as he yawned, opening his mouth in a big 'O' and clapping his toothless gums together. His blinking became slower until eventually, just after Sherlock had put him in the crib and hummed softly, they closed completely and he fell asleep.

Sherlock then walked out of the room and quietly tip-toed down the stairs so he didn't wake the baby boy.

"Where have you been?" He asked John, though it was obvious he was out getting rat-assed. His hands picked up all the toys that he'd attempted to calm Johns son with and he put them back on the shelf reserved for them.

"I'm not sss-sure." John slurred. He was now sitting in his chair. His eyes were red and swollen, he'd been crying, but they also had a slight bump and a small bruise, he'd been fighting.

"Who did that?" Sherlock reached out to touch the bruise softly, knowing that it was a man about his size, much taller than John but also more muscular than both of them.

"Gerroff!" John shouted as he pushed Sherlock's hand away. "Some guy was laughing about something and I said 'ssssssshhhhhhhhh' and he punched me." John shrugged and stood up quickly so he was mere inches from Sherlock, "I need to see my son." He stated as he made his way to the stairs.

"Not in that state. I just got him to sleep and you are being loud. In the morning when you are sober." Sherlock said as he grabbed Johns arm. Despite the fact that John was noticeably more muscular than Sherlock, Sherlock was definitely stronger.

"Fine. Morning. Now I'm to bed." He said, he stumbled up the stairs but ended up collapsing on the first step and trying to crawl up, though it looked like he was attempting to swim up the stairs.

"Sofa." Sherlock commanded. He steered the man to the sofa and pushed him down. The then tugged off his shoes and threw a blanket over the man, who was already snoring softly.

~O~

When John woke up it was to the sound of a baby crying in the other room, he rubbed his head and then opened his eyes. A half-full sick bucket sat in front on him on the sofa, funny, he didn't remember being sick. A full glass of water was on the table and he reached over to grab it, drinking like it was the first water he'd had in years of walking through the deserts plains of Africa. He managed to steady his shaking hands and pull himself off the couch to walk, slowly, to the dividing door of the kitchen.

"Shh, baby, it's okay." Sherlock whispered to the baby who was grizzling away in his arms, "Daddy's sleeping next door, it'll be okay just be quiet and let him sleep." Sherlock's voice was quiet but the baby was crying so loud that he didn't notice the sound of Johns entering.

"I'm up now." He smiled and looked at Sherlock, who was now facing him, and the baby, who was also watching him. "Can I see him?" His voice sounded so groggy and he hated how much his throat hurt.

"Hold him, I'll make coffee." Sherlock said, blatantly relieved to have a moment away from the crying, one-day-old spawn.

When John smiled down at his sons face a name instantly popped into his face. He still had a headache and his whole body hurt so he sat down as he whispered, "Hello baby Hamish." And stroked a finger through his soft, short curls.

Sherlock regarded the situation fondly, the boy had stopped crying and John had given him a name, Hamish. A good name.

"I'm sorry John." Sherlock said softly. "There will be no better time to tell you this than now, Mary left a letter amongst the baby things, I found it when searching for toys and it's addressed to you. I didn't open it, it's on the table." Sherlock nodded to the table, a plate of bacon sat next to the letter, clearly showing that he thought John should eat something.

"I'll read it later, if that's okay with you?" John said as he placed a piece of bacon in his mouth and smiled half heartedly at Sherlock. "Thanks for the bucket and the water. Um, big help." He said sheepishly.

"It's fine." Sherlock nodded once and turned around to face John and Hamish, "He has your curls and your nose, but definitely Mary's eyes." He stated. He'd committed every part of this scene to memory.

"I'm sorry, about not coming in until late. Mary died and I had a new son and I couldn't cope with it." John said quietly, "I turned to what Harry does at times like that and I drank."

"It's fine, just don't do it again. Kids may be easy to look after but he needs his dad."

"I won't." John smiled.

~O~

_John._

_I told Sherlock to give you this letter if I ever passed away, because you needed to know the truth, and I feared you would not understand had I done it while I was still alive._

_Before I start, I hope you know I love you. And I'll continue to. And I truly am sorry._

_I knew you, before we met... Someone told me to watch you. Spy, if you like. On you, and Sherlock._

_I felt awful. Believe me. I watched you fall for me, gradually, as I got to know you. And I tried not to fall for you, either, but I fell unconditionally. I was infatuated with you. You were so kind._

_I continued to work for the person. My relationship with you became more important, and I told him I couldn't lie to you anymore._

_Moriarty was who I was working for. 'Working' is probably the wrong word. He's my brother. I never intended to lead you on, and I never lied to you either, but I didn't want to ruin what we had. I'd never been happier, and you told me you hadn't either._

_Our wedding was my happiest moment. The simple ceremony we agreed on. You weren't happy that Sherlock wasn't there, obviously, but I told you we couldn't wait for someone who would never be able to attend._

_When I found out I was pregnant, I was so happy. We were happy. All the pieces had finally fit together. Our little twins were going to be so perfect._

_Sherlock returned, nevertheless, and I felt like I was losing you, gradually. And then I lost one of the babies and I felt like it was all out of control._

_The doctor told me, at a consultation, that there was a bigger chance I would die during childbirth than surviving. Although it broke my heart, I didn't ever want you to worry. I'd hurt you enough, despite you not knowing. I didn't and still don't want you to blame yourself for what happened, because you were the best thing that has happened to me. You saved me, John, in everyway I could be saved. You helped me be happy and understand what I was missing out on in my life._

_I love you John. I only regret that I can spend the rest of my life with you but you can't spend yours with me._

_-Mary. xxx_


	10. Chapter 10

~O~

"You can't take a baby onto a crime scene." Greg frowned at Hamish, now two months old, being cradled in Johns arms.

"Why? You let Anderson on and I'm pretty sure Hamish has a higher brain capacity than that buffoon." Sherlock said simply, making sure that Anderson heard everything he said. John laughed to himself and Hamish giggled, something he'd only started doing the day before. He laughed when John did and on those rare occasions that Sherlock let out a slight laugh.

"Shut up, this is a crime scene, not a nursery." Anderson shot back.

"Sherlock, you can go up. John, you can too but I'm sorry, what if Hamish is sick on anything, he can't."

"I'm not leaving my son with a bunch of police officers, if that's what you're suggesting!"

"I'm not leaving John down here, I need him up there with me." Sherlock jerked a hand to the house, signalling to the murder.

"John, my final say on the matter is that Hamish cannot go up there." Greg said firmly. "I'm sorry." He shrugged and walked into the house.

"John, leave Hamish with," Sherlock scanned the room, "That one. In the corner. She has kids, a young baby, and she will look after him." Sherlock nodded his head across the room.

"Sherlock..." John said hesitantly.

"Sherlock!" Greg shouted from inside the house.

"Okay. Fine." John shook his head and walked over to the female police officer, asking her as politely as he could to look after Hamish.

He then walked back to Sherlock and smiled, "There you go. She said she'll look after him until we get back and she'll only give him to us." Sherlock nodded and immediately began walking in.

~O~

A few days later they were sitting in the flat, Sherlock looking down his microscope and John bobbing his son up and down on his knee, the little boy laughed and John grinned at him.

"Let's go out." Sherlock said suddenly. He rose from his chair, leaving the petri dish still in the microscope, and walking to the door to grab his coat.

"What?" John asked, slightly shocked that Sherlock had suggested it, "Is this for a case of yours?"

"No. Let's go to the park? Or to a nice cafe? You choose."

"Why?"

"We're raising a child together and he," he pointed to Hamish, "can't stay cooped up in here all day, I think it'd be better if we all went out together." Sherlock smiled, "Are you coming?"

John nodded and stood up, he wrapped Hamish up in a blanket and followed the taller man out.

"Okay, so what bought this on? You were halfway through a case."

"Hamish was just about to start crying and, if what I know of babies is correct, he needed either feeding or fresh air. You fed him an hour ago; therefore the latter is most likely." Sherlock shrugged his scarf on as he walked to the big playing field, he then shoved his hands in his pocket.

"Oh." John smiled to himself and rocked Hamish in his arms, gripping the back of his head.

"You miss her?" Sherlock asked, he didn't look up but he could feel John tense up beside him.

"Yes." He confirmed, that was all he said on the matter. He couldn't lie, he did miss her, he missed waking up in the morning next to someone, being kissed when he did something. He missed her being there more than he missed her, but Sherlock wouldn't know that.

"I can understand, you know? I know you think I can never understand this but I do..." he trailed off and looked to the floor, his eyes only lifting slightly to smile at Hamish.

"How can you understand?" John asked, he was curious but his tone seemed almost malicious. He frowned and cursed himself for being rude, Sherlock was only trying to make him feel better.

"Don't forget, John, I did have a life before I met you." He said quietly before looking up. "She didn't die though, she left me." His voice was dead and very matter-of-factly. As if he was talking about an exam and not a lost love.

John bit his lip and looked down at Hamish. "I'm sorry." He said quietly, hugging Hamish close to his chest as the baby took in deep breaths and looked around. He smacked his toothless gums together and took in his surroundings, brows furrowed as he recognised where they were.

"I don't care." Sherlock shrugged, "And although she didn't die I had no say in it so I do know what you're going through." He said quietly.

"I know you do, I never doubted you didn't. It's just hard." John shrugged and heaved a sigh before walking into an ice cream parlour and ordering something for himself as Sherlock got a coffee.

He was desperate to change subject and so he handed Hamish to Sherlock, taking a seat by the window, "The case then, what do you think?"

"It was the brother." Sherlock stated, looking at John as he tightened the blanket around Hamish. "You understand why?"

"The shoes?"

"The shoes!" Sherlock grinned, "What about the shoes?"

"They weren't his, they were his brothers. The brother changed their shoes around?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because he wanted... I don't know." John shrugged.

"He wanted the shoes, so he took them, he didn't mean to kill him."

John smiled and nodded, "Nice. So when do you plan on telling Lestrade?"

"Couple of days maybe? I'll tell him I would have solved it quicker had Hamish been on the scene, he helps me concentrate."

When Sherlock said that John noticed his thumb lightly tracing over the babies face. It seemed Sherlock always did that, John just rarely noticed. He kept his on hand wrapped around the spoon and ate his ice cream quickly, grinning.

Sherlock stopped the action as soon as he realised he was doing it and smiled down at Hamish.

~O~

"Dad-dy" Hamish stumbled over the word as he crawled to John. Now he was two and as he crawled to his daddy he stopped halfway through to look at Sherlock, sitting on his chair with his head raised to watch Hamish.

"Daddy?" Hamish asked, pointing to Sherlock but looking at John, brow furrowed in confusion.

John shook his head and pointed to himself, "daddy." He then pointed to Sherlock, "papa." He said, grinning.

"Papapa." Hamish said, eyes wide as he started crawling to Sherlock. "Papapa!" He squealed, landing on his bum in front of Sherlock and holding his arms out, an unspoken question to be picked up.

"Papa." Sherlock corrected as he picked Hamish up. "Say papa."

"Papa." Hamish squealed again, bouncing up and down and clapping. "Papa! Daddy!" he said excitedly.

"Yes, papa and daddy."

~O~

"Sir, it's about Holmes."

"Oh?" an Irish accent asked.

"He has a weakness, he seems far fonder of this baby than we originally thought."

"A weakness? This will work in our favour."


End file.
